


Found and Lost

by Acidqueen (syredronning)



Series: Nasty MU series [6]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mirror Universe, Mutilation, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-23
Updated: 2010-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-12 03:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/Acidqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sarek finds out about McCoy's whereabouts, the dice get cast anew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Found and Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sixth part of my nasty MU series, which consists of "Tied", "Revelations", "Obsession I - Enterprise", "Obsession II - Vulcan", and "Revenge". It is recommended to read the prequels first.
> 
> Special thanks my wonderful beta Elizabeth Helena for her great work and to Janet for brainstorming.
> 
> Originally posted March 2007.

Prologue:

The z'e was quietly whimpering, but didn't dare to twist under his grip. No z'e would. They all knew what happened to slaves that resisted, even if it was one of the claimed, the honored ones. Out of the corner of his eye, X'k'aher could see its owner watching, clearly not liking the scene. But z'e were to share between the inner circle, and X'k'aher took special care to hurt the being beneath him, because it amused X'k'aher. He could see its owner's frown as the z'e shuddered in his grip, and so he clutched harder, forcing in his genital to the hilt. His semen shot into the body in cool chunks, filling it. Finally X'k'aher pulled out and cleaned his long, slim penis with the inner side of his robe. Someone else took over, and the rite would go on until everyone of the circle had proven their manliness; the ritualistic use of a z'e in the morning was as ingrained in their way of living as breathing. X'k'aher straightened his robe and ordered his own honored slave to bring his mask. There was work to be done.

***

The planet was desolate and cool, a dead piece of stone in the emptiest corner of the Beta Quadrant. It was too small to ever have given birth to an atmosphere and, without any valuable gems and natural resources, too useless for anyone to care.

The ideal place for people who didn't want to be seen by the powers that be, Sarek thought. He walked down the uninviting corridor of the gray, small space station that almost seamlessly fit into the planet's surface. In front of him, Stonn and Seral were walking in the same dark-brown robes, but no one would have recognized the three of them from vision alone tonight. Their hosts, even more wary than Vulcans, had insisted on masks for themselves and the Vulcans had decided that in this case, they would be veiled too. It was an unusual feeling to wear the female hoods - Sarek hadn't realized how much they limited the view. From a security point of view, they were a dangerous piece of equipment, although everyone had agreed on no weapons. What really protected them were the two ships hanging in the sky above the second planet over, Vulcan cruisers ready to crumble the whole station to pieces - and with it some small but fruitful work of the newly grown power that called itself the Xer.

Where they came from, no one knew. But where they hunted, people learned their name fast, using it as curse or whispering it in fear. The Xer knew even less mercy than the Empire, and that made them dangerous and interesting at the same time.

The Empire hadn't been the same during the last months anyhow, Sarek thought, but his musing ended as the men in front of him halted. A large, metal, air-tight door stood in their front, not particularly inviting.

Stonn, who was the appointed leader of their small delegation tonight, bent forward and knocked on it in a quick, unusual pattern. Either the Xer had a very good memory or very good ears; in any case, they didn't fall below Vulcan abilities at that point. Seconds later, the door opened. Slowly, the Vulcans entered.

It was a rectangular room, and in the middle was a long table, diagonal to them. On the other side, three figures were standing; with faces covered by metal masks and dark-blue robes hiding everything else of their bodies, Sarek could not deduce a possible species. However, they seemed humanoid by tallness and volume.

But what was visible were the people kneeling behind the chairs of their hosts. Like living jewels, the Xer displayed thee male slaves from various species which they had captured on their raids. All were hairless and nude. Their arms were behind their backs, maybe tied; on their faces, some metal devices shimmered, and it took Sarek a moment to realize they were vertical metal piercing rings through the lower and upper lips, which were connected to a septum piercing and all of these were connected to nipple piercings by a thin chain. An effective way to silence and control them, Sarek thought in fascination. He might use the same devices at home in the future.

The slaves' forehead and upper bodies were covered with a painted - or maybe branded - pattern the meaning of which Sarek could not discern. Further examination did not yield more evidence, and so he concentrated on the talks.

As usual for first meetings, it didn't take long and was only dedicated to the basic agreements. So the group was back in the transporter room of their cruiser 'Scherike' only one hour later.

Stonn pulled his veil away, taking in the warm air.

"Seral?" Sarek looked at the old Vulcan who had worked for him on and off for decades, and whom Sarek trusted more than many of his own family members. However, some things were not for his ears - or mind.

"I could not read much," Seral said. "I think they had a telepath in their group who covered the others. The protection was uneven, but mostly withstood my probing.It was like stone glazed with ice, slippery. However, hints of brutality and determination. A faint feeling of greed. Nothing you would not know without me."

"What species do they belong to?"

"I do not know. Possibly one we have never met before. But the telepath could also be Betazoid or Strega. Romulans shield differently. Which would mean that there was no Andorian in the group, because those can only be shielded by Romulans. I cannot say anything more about the others." Seral turned his palms up in a gesture of apology.

"It was worth a try," Sarek murmured. "We will meet you later."

When the door closed behind Seral, Stonn turned his head.

"There were only male slaves - did we talk to women?"

"I do not know. It would be possible due to the voice scramblers, but they might easily be similar to us, hiding women from the eyes of off-worlders."

"And there was one slave per each Xer. Does it mean they come together, and the appearance of the slaves has a certain meaning?"

"This may well be the case," Sarek agreed, dropping his cloak. They slowly walked towards the door.

"I am pleased with your approach, my son. The consultation will proceed tomorrow, and I expect that we will reach an agreement suitable for all parties soon."

"I am honored," Stonn said. They left the transporter bay and went to their cabins.

*

The afternoon found X'k'aher alone in his room on the station - alone except for his honored z'e, but that didn't count - and waiting for the personal report of their newest circle member, who had been raiding the outer rim. It was yet another test for him, but X'k'aher was sure that the human would meet his expectations. Ruthless, determined and a brilliant tactician, every operation so far had ended with more gains than anyone would have expected.

"Ch'e ar'ai K'k," his guards announced, and the human entered the room, his z'e following behind.

"X'k'aher, cherished leader," K'k said and turned to bow in the traditional way, showing his rear in a gesture of obedient offering.

Then he turned to face X'k'aher again and sat down on the floor cross-legged, his z'e kneeling behind him at a distance.

"I have sent the results directly to your console, leader. As you can see, I have brought three raided ships with me and 230 new slaves from five different worlds which can be used here or traded. Our own losses were minimal. The meager planets in that sector didn't stand a chance against us."

"Was there any Imperial activity?"

"Only a scout ship," the human said with clear disdain in his voice. "I personally blasted it into oblivion."

Of course, X'k'aher knew everything already, not only from the human's report but also from his own ship that he had sent after the human to monitor and, if necessary, control his activities. But everything had been undertaken as ordered and expected. A flawless mission.

"I am pleased," X'k'aher said aloud. "You will be honored with a seal." The z'e, knowing what was expected from him, moved forward and knelt down between them. X'k'aher had never understood the human's choice of this z'e, a man too old… The jewelry was a bit too much for K'k's status too, but X'k'aher decided to ignore it.

He took the patterned stamp he had already replicated and heated it in a blue flame. When the surface was red-hot, he pressed it into the chest of the z'e, next to the other seals on the right side. The z'e barely moved. Good for it.

When the branding was done, X'k'aher threw the stamp to the ground where it broke in half, never to be used again. Ignoring the z'e now, he said, "Tomorrow, the negotiations with the Vulcans will proceed. Since you already had contact with them in the past, you will join us."

K'k nodded. "Do we know who the Vulcans are?"

"They are from the House of Sarek, but what members, we don't know yet."

Was there a flicker in the human's face? "You know them?" X'k'aher asked.

K'k hesitated, but then replied, "I have known one son. But he is dead."

"By your hand?"

"As good as," K'k replied.

There was more to this, X'k'aher realized, but it wasn't important for now. He never trusted aliens fully, and K'k was no difference. X'k'aher would find out the truth soon enough.

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the human and called his helper X'for.

*

A day later, the second meeting was much like the first; careful negotiation, each group only allowing glimpses of their true potential. Therefore, Sarek focused more on the group of slaves and the things he might learn from their looks than on the words of their masters.

His gaze ran over the small group, when it came to an abrupt halt. The second man on the left…he knew him…

Little did McCoy look like he had in the past - the shaven head and the golden lip piercings gave him a naked, vulnerable appearance. His head was bent forward, forced down by the short, golden chain that ran between his nipples, his lips and the nose ring. On his forehead and chest, there was an irregular pattern similar to those of the other slaves, except it went down only half of his upper body. The last mark was fresh, showing the red-brown scab of a recent branding.

But the collar was the very same one Sarek had ordered for him years ago, although the sign of their House had been removed from its front.

Sarek took three deep breaths, thankful that Stonn was in charge of the talks. Right now, all he could think of was McCoy. For two point seven months, the fate of Spock and McCoy had been an unsolved mystery, ever since they'd disappeared from the Enterprise. Sarek had suspected they were dead, and it was still a possibility that Spock was. And was that really McCoy? It had been such a long time since he last had seen him…touched him…

As if feeling the Vulcan's gaze resting on him, the human lifted his eyes for a split second, and Sarek felt his breath catch in his throat. By Ah'ta, this was definitely the human he had hungered for - enough to endanger his career and life. The human he was never to touch again. The human that was Spock's husband, a family member. He could not let him remain in slavery, by any means. It was a disgrace and shame for the House.

And there might be a chance to find Spock, after all.

*

"I'm bored."

Saavik looked up from her book and frowned at the teenage boy on the other side of the high table.

"I'm really bored," the boy repeated, fidgeting with his blond hair. "Let's play a round of chess."

"I'm sure there's some work for you, Deveed, let me see." Saavik replied and shoved the book aside, annoyed about this interruption of her rare spare time.

"You know there isn't. We've prepared everything for the arrival of our masters hours ago. And it makes no sense to prepare tea yet."

Saavik accepted the truth in his words. She had supervised his work herself, as she was responsible for this younger slave. It was a job Sarek had given her; although she was a slave herself, the human boy had the lower rank.

Deveed was foremost Stonn's servant, and he spoke very little of his master. Stonn was cruel, but also rather disinterested in humans, which saved Deveed from certain services.

Saavik did not have such luck.

"Chess would be acceptable," she said.

Deveed pulled the chess set out of the drawer and set up the pieces. "Black or white?" he asked.

"White."

They began playing, but Saavik's thoughts weren't on the game. She lost twice against Deveed and finally shoved the whole board to the floor.

"Enough!" she declared.

"You only don't like to lose," he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

She straightened her shoulders, knowing that she'd never really look impressive, not matter how much she tried. With her overly slim body and the short hair of slaves, she would always appear tinier than she wanted to. "Collect them," she ordered and pointed at the closest piece.

"Yes, mylady," Deveed said with a grin and slipped from his chair down to the floor. However, every chessman he found, he shoved into her lap so that she was forced to cradle them with her shirt.

"Deveed!" she cried indignantly.

He moved up from under the table, putting his head in her lap too. "Are you unsatisfied, mylady?"

"I am," she said, but couldn't help smiling. There was nothing more relaxing than the human's laughter; it was the only thing that could brighten her day. But of course she wouldn't tell him that.

"Go away," she said and pushed his chin a little.

"Really?" He made his big puppy eyes at her.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Really-really?"

"Yes!" Her smile deepened. What an imp he was. "And don't look at me like a dog, I don't -"

A sharp thrill resounded above the door of the room, stopping her mid-sentence. She paled.

"They're back!" Hurriedly, she put the board and the chess pieces away. "See you later, Deveed."

*

"S'Haile, would you like some tea?" Saavik asked, as she helped Sarek out of the two layers of robes he wore.

"Yes," He shrugged out of the last piece of fabric, then moved his scrutinizing gaze over his quarters. Everything must be in order, Saavik observed, as he didn't scold her.

Hastily she began to prepare the tea, putting the leaves into the little net and into the pot, then filling the pot with boiling water. She tried hard to make her actions look ceremonious, but knew she failed.

She always failed in Sarek's eyes, no matter what she did.

The door opened and Stonn entered. "We must speak," he said, ignoring Saavik's presence.

"Speak," Sarek said.

"That one slave…was it not Spock's ko-adun?"

Sarek shook his head. "At first, I thought so, but now I think it is not him."

Stonn searched his father's features. "You have known him much better than I did, so I take your word," he finally said.

"Indeed." Sarek took the cup Saavik offered him and sipped the hot tea. He didn't offer any to Stonn.

"I will retire to my rooms," Stonn said. "I trust we will speak about the new propositions tomorrow morning."

"We will." Sarek took another sip, his eyes already on his console.

Stonn nodded sharply, turned on his heel and left.

Saavik had used the time to clean Sarek's robes and put them in the closet. Only the boots were left for polishing, and she did it thoroughly, her eyes fixed on the black leather. Finally, the room looked perfect.

"S'Haile, if you please…" Saavik began, trying to edge toward the door, but Sarek shook his head.

"Stay," he ordered, and she froze near the entrance.

"Undress," he said.

She lowered her head and removed the short robe she wore. Her breasts weren't full yet, and with her short hair, she almost looked like a boy. She had heard that's what Sarek liked most about her. It made her wish she'd grow into a woman faster.

Or maybe the explanation was all wrong, and he mistreated her more lately because she was a woman like his wife T'Opal who had moved back to her family. Sarek lost his youngest son over this, something he never spoke of, but which she had felt during many nights when he was in his darkest, most sadistic moods.

"Your hair is rather long at the moment," he said and combed his fingers through it. "Bring me the razor."

She blinked, but did as ordered.

"There's too much hair everywhere," he added as he shoved her on the bed. Moving her around like a rag doll and positioning her as he pleased, Sarek shaved her from bottom to top. Soon, every hair on her body was gone, even on her head. Finally he was done and pulled her in front of the mirror.

Tears formed in her eyes as she saw herself in it - a naked, hunted animal.

Above her, Sarek's ghostly smile mirrored in the glass.

*

The door to the servants' area slipped open and closed again. The light had remained off, but Deveed was wide awake, waiting for her arrival. He heard her drop her clothes, and when she tried moving over to her bunk, he held out his hand to catch her. But instead of coming to him, she jerked away, stumbling against a nearby stool.

"Saavik," he whispered in concern.

"Don't ask," she whimpered. He'd never heard her voice like this. It made him slip out of bed and move over to her, carefully so he wouldn't wake the other slaves.

He took hold of her and helped her toward her bunk. He lay her down and then slipped under the blanket with her, cradling her shaking body. It was only when she pressed her face into the curve of his neck that he noticed something was awry.

"Your hair…?"

"Sarek…he shaved it off. He shaved everything."

"Why?" Deveed asked. A shaved head was a severe punishment, and until the hair was a few centimeters of length again, Saavik would be subjected to special cruelty by everyone, including her fellow slaves.

"I don't know. I tried to make everything perfect. I always do everything he wants me to do. There was no reason for this punishment." She was still shaking in his arms. His fingers felt tell-tale welts on her back.

"He really must hate you. My poor Saavik." Deveed rocked her slightly back and forth, wishing he could do anything for her. Maybe, if he talked to Stonn, she could be transferred to someone else. Ever since he'd been abducted into slavery and sold to the Vulcan household three years ago, she'd been his best friend. Saavik had explained the rules, helped him avoid the worst punishments, and stood up for him against the older slaves who liked to take out their own frustration and helplessness on the younger ones.

And lately, he'd realized, he even wanted her in a sexual way. Although sexual relationships between slaves were forbidden, and, of course, he'd been nullified when he came into the household. But he could still dream of being with her as a man, as her husband in a freer world, living a life far away from their Vulcan masters. Somewhere in this galaxy, there had to be a place where living did not mean pain, fear and rape. Though he wasn't sure where this might be.

"Saavik-kam," he murmured, stroking her shaved head in a soothing motion. "My wonderful Saavik-kam."

She leaned against him, her body pressing against his. A part of him noticed the blood rushing down to his groin, where it found no goal to liven up.

"Saavik…"

He felt her moving against him, her head leaving his shoulder. Then there were her lips on his, hungry and driven. Deveed kissed her back without thinking. Her groin was rubbing over his, incinerating him further, and he slipped his hands down to touch her. His fingers found a ready center, heat and warmth spreading around it. She rolled over him and rode herself on his left hand, while he touched her body with his other one.

For a long moment, it almost felt like the real thing. But then she gasped and came - and he didn't. His throat tightened as he fought the tears, but she didn't notice his inner pain as she kissed him once again. They remained curled around each other for a while, until he felt it would be better to return to his own bunk. He gave her a hug, and she sleepily returned it before he moved away. "Thank you," she whispered.

Deveed patted her head again and left for his bed, laying wide awake for the rest of the night.

* It was already late when Kirk and McCoy beamed back to their ship and returned to their cabin. They didn't meet many crewmembers on the way, but those they did were used to the view of Kirk's long Xer robe and McCoy's weird appearance. But the crew also kept apart; the cooperation with the Xer was Kirk's business, and the mostly human crew didn't feel like mingling with a race they had nicknamed the slaughterers.

It wasn't like back on the Enterprise. Even with the distance due to ranks, the men and women onboard the flagship always had been Kirk's crew, ready to go through fire for him. On his new ship 'Revenge', the crew followed him as far as money and drugs could buy their loyalty, but not one step further.

Of the four Enterprise members originally sold out by Spock, there was only M'Benga left, and only because Kirk needed him. Sulu was a frozen piece of meat in space now; the greedy bastard had tried to top Kirk, which was always a bad idea. However, Kirk didn't really feel he could trust the newer members of his crew either. At the moment, he tried to keep the reins in his own hand, delegating very little to Tom, his first officer. But he'd have to let go of some of his responsibilities soon, as the Xer occupied more and more of his time - and he didn't like it.

Ignorant of Kirk's thoughts, McCoy knelt down beside the bed as usual, his hands chained behind his back. Kirk dropped his robe and undergarment, putting it on the nearby chair. He motioned his slave to lie on the bed, and McCoy uncomfortably lay on his back, his legs slightly spread.

Kirk let him remain there for a while, taking care of some organizational demands of the ship. When he was finally done, he sat down on the bed. His eyes took in the sight - the endearing sight of his helpless possession, bearing the marks of his victories as brandings all over his chest. His fingers rubbed over the newest one, following the lines. He knew that they didn't really hurt; but they weren't intended for torture, compared to most other things the Xer did.

He shortened the chain by a couple of links, forcing McCoy to lift his head from the mattress in an uncomfortable position. Then Kirk slipped between his legs.

"I know you hate it." He grinned.

McCoy remained silent, of course, but there was a gleam in his eyes that spoke volumes to Kirk.

"It won't matter," Kirk said, pushing McCoy's legs further apart. "Think of better times as long as you want." He smiled crookedly. "You're still hoping for Spock to come for you. I should have killed that bastard. But it doesn't matter. You're under my control now." He patted McCoy's genitals, the flesh barely visible due to the many metal rings piercing through the flaccid penis and the sack, binding it into the solid little package the Xer preferred for their z'e.

McCoy remained on his back, his head awkwardly tilted upwards, and Kirk could see that it hurt him. Reaching out he played with one of the enhanced nipples. The piercing was placed behind the implant once inserted by Sarek, and he caressed it too for a moment, before he grabbed the chain and yanked.

His victim groaned in pain, tilting his head even deeper down on his chest. But it didn't make Kirk stop - in fact, it was necessary. It had taken Kirk a long time to find out how he could turn on McCoy, and it had summed up to painful, rough sex. Somewhere in McCoy's fucked-up, constantly played-with mind, only the non-subtle, hard approach had been left as option. And so Kirk gave him that, reveling in the power that could be found in controlling someone's lust against the person's own will.

Since they had halved the dose of the drug after the application of the Xer piercings, McCoy was somewhat aware of his state, but adequately helpless to do anything about it. And he was helpless now as Kirk braced his thighs and shoved his erection deep into McCoy's body.

He fucked him into the mattress, tilting McCoy's body so that his strokes would enter him hard. McCoy's eyes remained open for he was never permitted to close them during sex, and soon the usual blankness was substituted by sparkles of arousal. In a way, he looked as vulnerable as a cornered rabbit who knew it would be slaughtered by a fox. Kirk liked the comparison, because with every orgasm he gave him, a part of McCoy was dying indeed - a bit of his resistance and hopes. While Kirk had survived the Klingon's cruelty by his fierce determination for revenge, he didn't know where McCoy gained his energy to stay alive. It was as if he had gone into hibernation, keeping a low profile and just trying to survive, absorbing Kirk's domination like a sponge and just as ready to spill it out and get rid of it the second he was free. But one day, Kirk would be through with him and own him completely.

McCoy's blue eyes filled with tears as Kirk pushed harder. Kirk released the thighs and once again twisted some chain links to put strain on the piercings. With his other hand, he reached down to push two additional fingers into McCoy's anus. His victim's breathing went forcibly through his nose, his lids flickering. A voiceless groan rose in his throat, his eyes clearing even further. They mirrored arousal and revulsion likewise, but in the end only defeat when Kirk was brutal enough to propel McCoy into his unwanted orgasm. McCoy arched against him, shaking, pulling the chains so hard that Kirk almost expected to see blood. But the piercings were long healed and used to the strain, and so Kirk kept moving toward his own completion.

When he slid out of him, McCoy remained in his twisted position until Kirk loosened the chain. Only then McCoy leaned back, his look blank again. Kirk stretched out next to him and grabbed his chin, twisting it toward him.

"I'll never let you go again," he said and licked along McCoy's sealed lips in the mocking gesture of a good night kiss. "Be sure of that." Then he sent him down to the floor to sleep, chaining McCoy's cuffs to the bed's frame.

*

McCoy awoke startled, a cry stuck in his throat. Not that it would ever leave his tied lips, but it was still there, caused by one of many nightmares. He was shaking, his heart beating like a drum, and everything was worsened by the sudden panic that Kirk would wake up. He hated him, but he feared him even more. Not only for what Kirk did to him daily, but what he had done in the past.

Of course, everything was foggy. He hadn't been in his clear mind for a long time, of that much he was sure. It was only lately that he could keep a thought longer than a fleeting second, and remember longer scenes instead of the vague, singular pictures his memory had served up before.

The scenes only came at all because he hadn't been drugged when they had done it, he thought. It was always in a kind of sickbay. And it was always him chained to a bed. And there was the black man who hated him, although McCoy didn't know why.

From there, it got fuzzy again. Part of him was sure they'd brought him into his current state. He could almost feel the piercing gun again, how ring after ring tied his dick to his sack without local narcotics. They had laughed. He was sure they had laughed. He couldn't say a thing, because his mouth was kept open somehow. His jaw had hurt, but they only laughed. He was pretty sure they'd also put in the rings that tied his lips together. It had been a terrible feeling. He'd never felt that helpless in his life before.

Or was it Spock's feeling, Spock's hurt? He wasn't sure. Sometimes it was clearly Spock. Sometimes it was his own pain. But often, it seemed to be their pain, a coupled suffering. And so McCoy wasn't sure if they'd really cut a part of his tongue in sickbay. He thought they had, but he'd lost the comparison to how his tongue had felt before, and he hadn't been able to speak ever since.

He closed his eyes, tears trying to get out but unable to do so. It was the drugs - his mind still wasn't clear. McCoy turned onto his side, ignoring the pull of the chain. Tomorrow would be a new day, and there was always hope. Always.

*

The next morning, Kirk didn't take McCoy with him; instead, he fed him half a protein drink with a straw and then chained him into the shower cell. Obviously Kirk thought that was safer with the alien delegation around.

Awkwardly kneeling on the tiles, McCoy tried to keep his face upright, as the nose chain was locked to the handhold. He was hungry and tired, but the worst thing was that the black man would come and give him a shot.

Or maybe it was good. There were moments when he craved to forget about his situation completely. It would be good to forget his chained hands, to forget that they'd cut the sinews of his thumbs so that he wouldn't be able to catch anything properly. He only remembered that mutilation last night, in another dream. He began to hate the pictures that came back to him. All he saw was torture and his own hopeless situation. He felt like crying again, and this time, two little tears forced their way out.

The drug was almost out of his system. And all he really wanted was to die on the spot.

The door of the front room opened and closed again, and then there was the black man in the doorway. McCoy knew his name, but he wanted to forget it. It didn't tell him anything about why this man hated him.

"Hello, you miserable bastard," the man said. "The captain said you needed a shot." McCoy looked at him, obviously too focused. The man laughed. "I don't know, I think I like it better when you know how much you really suffer." He knelt down next to McCoy, teasingly running a finger down the tied man's arm. McCoy shivered.

"You remember a lot, don't you?" he whispered into McCoy's ear. "How we turned you into the little puppet you're now. How we rendered you impotent. How we pierced your nose so that we could tame you like a pig." The man playfully pulled the chain. "I know you remember, and you hate it. And that's what I love about it."

The man pulled a loaded hypo out of his pocket. McCoy stared at it.

"But you'll get half a shot as usual, yes, you will, because Kirk ordered it." With verve, the man pushed the hypo into McCoy's side where it hurt the most.

But with the hiss came no fog, and McCoy suddenly realized that this was a dark blue load and the correct one had always been light blue. This wasn't the right drug.

Soon, he'd remember everything.

*

It was a new day and there she was again, staring at her mirror image as she picked up Sarek's preferred necklace from its box, a large single jewel on a leather band. It was red like Vulcan's sun against her white shirt. Behind her, she could see Sarek gazing at her, and Saavik hastily turned. Anything was better than to see him looming over her in the mirror. Face to face, she felt at least like her usual self. But in the mirror, she was absolutely helpless.

She brought the necklace to him, and he put it over his head and onto his inner robe.

"Bring me the outer robe, Saavik," he ordered.

She hastened to comply, then stared at his fingers as he arranged the fall of the robes himself.

"Saavik…" he began, and she raised her eyes to meet his gaze, holding her breath.

"Yes, S'Haile?"

"What are the rules for slaves of our House?"

She was confused. "There are many rules."

"You know what I'm talking about, Saavik." Now he was standing in front of the mirror, eyeing her in the reflection. But it didn't make her feel any better, and she swallowed dryly.

"Come here," he ordered, pointing to his right side.

"S'Haile, they are waiting for you in -"

"Now!"

When she was next to him, he grasped her upper left arm in a painful grip and harshly yanked her in front of him.

"Look at yourself!" he stated sharply, shaking his helpless victim. She was barely able to focus the mirror. There were endlessly large eyes…and they were dead.

"What do you see?"

"I see myself. I see a slave."

"Not just any slave, Saavik. You're mine. Head to toe."

He shoved her over the cabinet below the mirror; she gasped as her chest landed on the hard surface. One of his hands closed around her neck, pressing her face into the wood. With the other one, he reached between her legs and took the tender flesh in another harsh grip.

"Especially this part, Saavik. When I learn that anyone else has touched you, I will personally kill this person. Is that clear?"

He released his grip on her, and she sank from the cabinet, shaking in fear.

"Do you understand?"

She forced herself upright and tried to look at him, but her eyes didn't want to obey her order. "Yes, S'Haile," she whispered, staring at his chest, and it seemed enough for Sarek as he wordlessly took the veil and left the room.

She sagged to the floor and buried her face in her arms.

*

"It is time," X'k'aher said. He slipped one of his extremities out of the robe and removed his mask. The negotiations had gone well today, and it would be offensive to keep on the masks, now that the Vulcan House was close to becoming an ally. Left and right of him, the other three attending Xer and the human unmasked too. The robes stayed on; they were their usual clothes.

When the Vulcans unveiled, X'k'aher saw his suspicion confirmed that the man who had played the biggest part in the negotiations so far was not the real leader. It had to be the grey-haired man behind him.

"You must be Sarek," X'k'aher addressed him.

"I am," the Vulcan said. "This is my son Stonn," He pointed to the man in front. "And this is my adjutant Seral," he added, nodding into the direction of the other, elder Vulcan.

That Vulcans shared their names with others freely was unusual for the Xer. But X'k'aher knew they expected some kind of disclosure in return, and was willing to give it to them.

He waved his extremity. "These are men of our inner circle. We do not believe in sharing names with outsiders, therefore know only mine; I am X'k'aher, leader of the Xer." The Vulcans slightly bowed their heads.

"We prepared food and drinks in the next room," X'k'aher said. "Please follow us." They went through the rear door and entered a small hall. X'k'aher had ordered X'for to research Vulcan meal traditions, and he expected the plates and dishes to please his guests. The tables were nicely decorated with a few arranged slaves, which they would use when their guests were gone.

Soon, the honored z'e were serving food and drinks and the delegations mingled a bit. Both parties weren't given to small talk, but tried their best.

X'k'aher looked at the human. K'k seemed tense, and the Xer had a good guess why; he'd seen where Sarek's gaze had rested on when the Xer had unmasked. It had not been on him but on K'k.

*

Kirk had never gotten to know Stonn in person, but he knew about him from some discussions between Spock and McCoy which he'd overheard with the Tantalus device. So this was Sarek's older son, Spock's direct rival. He wondered if he should tell Stonn about Spock's fate, but decided that he didn't care one way or the other. The only man Kirk cared about was Sarek, and he followed him with his eyes. The Vulcan didn't seem to have changed much since the time they had met onboard the Enterprise, and if his actions then had been any indication, Sarek wouldn't take it too badly that Kirk had gotten rid of Spock. But with McCoy, it would be quite another thing.

He wondered what the Vulcans thought of the Xer, now that they had uncloaked. Well, maybe they didn't think much; they'd only seen one slim limb with its characteristic three fingers and their faces, and not the rest of their rather unpleasing, squishy bodies. The Xer were green like Orions, but they lacked the gracefulness and slim body forms. Instead, their hairless bodies were rather, their faces without noses but with small piggy eyes and a mouth that opened like a square gate, but to the side. Their limbs were thin and mobile, and Kirk was never quite sure which of those slim extremities were the equivalent of arms or genitals and if there were two kinds of them at all. In Kirk's opinion, the Xer would win the first prize for ugliness on this side of the galaxy. Thank the deities that they always hid their bodies under those concealing, long robes.

Sarek was done talking for the moment, and when Kirk saw him try to lock eyes with McCoy who was just offering food on a plate, he eased himself along some of the Xer who stood in his way.

"He wouldn't know you," he whispered when he was close to Sarek's ear. Sarek's body froze for a second; then the Vulcan moved aside, taking a drink with him. Kirk followed as they used some decoration as cover.

"So it was you, Kirk. What happened?" Sarek asked quietly.

"Spock sold me to the Klingons. But then Spock's own crew sold him and McCoy to me, and I took revenge for his treason." Kirk took a sip of his drink.

"So Spock is dead?"

"As good as."

"And why is McCoy in such a state?"

"The Xer wanted me to define his status, so I had him prepared as an honored slave. But he's much more to me. So forget about getting him back, Sarek. You can't pay enough for him," Kirk said. He downed his drink and turned, almost bumping into X'k'aher.

"Leader?" he asked obediently and stepped aside, wondering if the Xer had overheard anything. But the Xer only gave him a nod and passed him to talk to Sarek. They exchanged a few words before X'k'aher clapped his extremities and loudly said, "There will be festivities tomorrow evening, to celebrate the upcoming deal with our Vulcan friends." The Xer applauded by shaking their tentacle-like limbs under their robes; Stonn joined them stiffly by clapping his hands twice. Then the reception dissolved and the Vulcan delegates left for their ship.

*

X'k'aher was used to calls in the middle of the artificial night. He was the chosen leader, and whatever came with this position, he accepted it. However, this call was expected. It was encoded with the key that the Vulcan had secretly given him during the small reception today, and he unscrambled the video signal on the fly.

"You know what I want," the man on the other side said. "Would you be willing and able to deliver it?"

"Most of it. As for the Vulcan, there is no sign of him so far."

"But he is alive."

"Maybe. We will try - but it will be expensive."

The man raised a brow. "I am positive that we will reach an acceptable agreement," he said and turned off the signal.

X'k'aher closed the console and turned to his z'e, eyeing the bearer of his signs. The human slave had been his for over four years, and the chest and half his left leg were already covered with brandings. When he died, the skin would be removed and dried and finally hung up next to the other skins on the wall. It was normal for X'k'aher, just like the spots of blood that were on his robe now.

He knew that for most other races, the Xer had become the epitome of brutality due to their way of living. But here they were, those oh so civilized races, willing to sell their companions, their own family members for a good deal, something that was unthinkable for a Xer. How brutal was that?

*

The new morning was like a replay of the last, and McCoy soon found himself chained into the shower again. But his hands were free for once, and the septum piercing was the only one chained to the hold, unconnected to the others. Sometimes, Kirk took a sick pleasure in demonstrating just how little it took to keep McCoy under control.

Or so Kirk thought.

He hadn't calculated with the sacrifices McCoy was willing and able to make today. With the drug mostly out of his system, he remembered more than ever before. He had to save Spock, for his husband's and his own sake. The voice and the pain in his head were getting stronger with the return of his memory, and it was driving him insane to be forced to impassively witness while Spock was getting killed. It was worth a little of his own pain. And he'd always hated that piercing anyway.

He threw himself sideways into the chain with all his might, and the septum piercing snapped out of his flesh.

McCoy groaned and curled up, tears running freely down his face. He hadn't felt such pain for months. Blood was running down from the torn skin above his lips, and he could feel the warm track it left behind. But after the first rush of pain, it abated to a manageable dimension and he was able to make it to Kirk's computer. He'd seen him enter the security code so often that he saw the numbers in his mind. He typed them, slowly and carefully, then established a connection to the Vulcan cruiser. Computers were a hell of a helpful tool, if you knew how to handle them.

A face appeared on screen. He didn't know it, but it had slanted eyebrows.

"i m mccoy adun spock"

McCoy typed slowly, as he was unused to this activity after months of at first true and then feigned dumbness. He had thought a while about what he should write - he could only hope they'd understand him.

"McCoy - I have heard that name before." the Vulcan said astonished. "You have been missing for months. Can you speak with us?"

McCoy shook his head, pointing at his lips that were sealed by the three rings. Then he typed, "spock nt here in slavrysodl sufering "

"Message received," the man said, his face carved in stone. "Anything else you know about his position?"

McCoy shook his head.

"I will order our people to investigate." The Vulcan locked eyes with McCoy. "We will do everything in our power to free you…or to end your pain," he said gravely.

McCoy nodded. Then he switched off the line before the man on the other end of the connection could see his watering eyes. They probably would come too late for him, but it had been worth it if it saved Spock's life.

* In vain, Seral tried to re-establish the connection with the human, but failed. After three attempts, he called Stonn instead and they quickly met in one of the ready rooms.

"So it is McCoy," Stonn said, after watching the available material.

"Undoubtedly," Seral agreed. "Everything matches the file we have. Was he not one of the slaves serving us yesterday?"

"No, or Sarek and I would have recognized him," Stonn said dismissively. "Let us keep silent about this for now."

"Silent?" Seral raised a brow. "What about Sarek?"

"He was emotionally entangled with this human, and would undoubtedly wish to know where Spock is. We are still in negotiations with the Xer and cannot handle an additional strain in this matter."

"That does not sound very logical."

Stonn looked sharply at him. "It is my decision, Seral. I have special information from T'Pau, and it is important that Sarek does not learn about McCoy's imprisonment with the Xer."

"As you prefer, Stonn," Seral said in deference. "I do not wish to displease T'Pau's confidant in this mission."

Stonn took the files. "I will keep these. Delete every reference to this message in the communication logs."

Seral nodded and went to follow the order.

*

Some hours later, on a planet more than a dozen light years away, Ajen, the owner of IRE Productions sat in his soundproof office. To his victims he might be the devil incarnate, but actually he was a medium-size humanoid of a race that lived far away in the Gamma Quadrant, their name of no consequence even to him anymore. He had left his people decades ago, using a stolen wormhole device that overambitious scientists had developed for their totalitarian regime at the expense of their society. It had only served those bastards right, he thought, to spend so much of the collective wealth without ever gaining anything from it. Stranded penniless and with a broken device in this corner of the galaxy, in which everyone suffered from everyone else, it had been logical to him to use this system for business. After all, it served the guilty parties right once again. He had a taste for justice on this side of the Great Divide, instead of waiting for some unlikely afterlife. And business was business…even on uneventful days like this one.

With one hand resting on a cup of Terran coffee, Ajen listened to the incoming news from traders and people who wanted to sell him fresh fodder for the never-ending wishes of his customers. He dealt with a few of them, buying a few humans and two Romulans - the latter had become more active again, which raised them in interest and, with that, in price. And humans simply never lasted long in the torture chambers.

He was about to end his day of work when one of the special channels was activated; one of his contact persons to the Empire was calling him, and it appeared urgent. Ajen opened the channel.

"You remember the Vulcan with the mutilated hands? His family is looking for him," his contact person said, not bothering with formalities.

"They won't find him," Ajen said. "Nobody has ever found this place."

"They are willing to pay a very good price for him."

Ajen shook his head. "I've got a reputation to lose. I promise every seller that the goods won't ever be set free again."

The man on the other end of the line pondered his words. "But he's still alive, right?" he said finally. "If the seller were dead…would that change things for you?"

"No." Ajen patted his forehead with his palm, indicating that this was his last word.

"Ahy-sa, what a pity. Now I can only hope that the family doesn't find your hiding place. They are powerful," the man on the other end of the line said.

"If you try to threaten me, then this will be our last call ever," Ajen stated sharply. "As it is now, I think you shouldn't call me for a while." He closed the line, angrily looking at the blank screen for a second before calling the main complex.

"How does V21023 sell lately?" he asked.

"Still good," Trani'jt, an Andorian, instantly replied on the viewscreen. "Vulcan and the Empire have more than enough enemies that want to be satisfied."

"But we don't want to bore our customers," Ajen said. "Schedule him for execution."

"This week?"

"Yes, as soon as possible. See that we get a good price for him. And maybe we need to change location for a while after that."

Trani'jt nodded without commenting; it was neither the first nor the last time that their production had moved to another solar system, and a routine had been established. The galaxy was big enough, and Ajen always knew people who were interested in keeping him in business, either because of their own wealth or because of some old revenge of their own.

With a final nod Ajen closed the channel and, after a moment of thinking, located the Vulcan in the system of cells. He was sold into the box for the past week, and so the infrared cameras went on and sent the picture of the Vulcan into his office. It wasn't simply a box, of course, where the Vulcan lay, unable to extend his limbs full length in any direction. Many additional gimmicks could be booked online by his customers, setting some of the walls for electrical jolts or filling the box with water. It could also be heated or cooled down over a range of 100 Kelvin - and all of those features could be set on random. So it was no wonder that the Vulcan was rolling in the box right now, trying to escape the flickering charges.

In the beginning, Ajen's goods tried to fight their captors, tried to withstand the torture. After a while, when they found that there was no way to escape or to die prematurely, they became resigned to their fate, hoping to fade away in one of the many terrible session. But later, even this resignation crumbled down to the most basic levels of survival, where all they could still think about was less pain.

In the end, Ajen thought as he watched the whimpering man, all beings were stripped off their control and reduced to nothing but shivering, fearful animals.

Ajen called up the box controls and raised the charge levels; the Vulcan was sobbing, but it wasn't enough in the long run. He was content to see his victim jerk heavily now, pushing his mutilated hands against the walls of the box with each new cry, uselessly, of course. No species had ever broken out of it, and the Vulcan wouldn't either.

Suddenly Ajen could understand the fascination V21023 bore for his customers. It wasn't just any Vulcan - it was a man of a well-known family and with an officer's patent, the perfect object of hate. To see him reduced to an animalistic, howling beast was worth a lot of money to them.

Well, his death would be worth a lot too, Ajen thought and shrugged. Switching off the screen, he turned to his other desk and began to sort the new goods.

*

"What did you think you'd do?" Kirk shouted in open anger. His fist rammed into McCoy's face, sending him to the floor. Forcing him up again, he slapped him until the lip piercings were bleeding too. Then he pulled him close.

"You idiot," Kirk whispered into McCoy's ear. "You fucking idiot!" He let McCoy drop back so hard that McCoy's head hit the panels with a loud thud.

Behind them, X'k'aher filled the door, eying the scene motionlessly. In the corridor, two Xer guards were waiting for further orders. "I warned you, K'k," X'k'aher said. "A z'e cannot be trusted unless it underwent the full training."

"He was under chemical control at all times," Kirk ground out between clenched teeth.

"Obviously, this was not the case."

Kirk hit the intercom. "M'Benga, to my cabin," he bellowed into the speaker.

They waited in silence until the doctor arrived. Kirk angrily stared down at McCoy who could barely open his increasingly swollen eyes. X'k'aher kept towering in the door, only moving aside when the footsteps drew near.

"Captain?" M'Benga entered the room, his eyes widening as he saw McCoy on the floor, bleeding all over his face.

"When did you give McCoy the last half dose of the drug?" Kirk challenged.

"Yesterday. You can see the logs -"

"Then how can you explain that he's been awake enough to send a message to another ship?""

M'Benga paled despite his dark skin. "He shouldn't be able to."

Kirk pointed at the log file that was displayed on the screen of his console. "He fucking was able to do it, and he did it." He pulled a laser pistol. "For how long didn't you give him the drug?" he asked, shoving the shaft under M'Benga's chin.

"For - how - long?" his voice repeated dangerously quiet, when M'Benga didn't answer right away.

"A month," the man finally whispered.

"A month?" Kirk felt the blood rushing to his face; he had a hard time avoiding X'k'aher's gaze. "You stupid bastard. He could've murdered me in my sleep."

"I didn't think -"

"Shut up!" Kirk ordered, pressing his pistol harder into M'Benga's jaw. "I don't care what you thought he wouldn't do, he was awake enough to send a message out. It's pure luck that he didn't do that before. You've already made a lot of errors in the past, but that's your biggest one."

"Please -" M'Benga tried to beg, but Kirk slapped him with the hard shaft of the pistol, sending him to the floor next to McCoy. Then he aimed the weapon at him.

"Enough," he said, and pulled the trigger. Uttering a short cry, M'Benga dissolved.

During the whole scene, X'k'aher had remained unmoved. Now he turned to Kirk. "You know that this is not enough," he said. "Your z'e has failed. He must be punished strongly, setting an example for all to see, or discipline might suffer."

"What do you have in mind?" Kirk asked. "His death?" He looked down at McCoy. A part of him wanted to kill him with his own hands for his stupid action; the other knew that he wouldn't be able to live without him. McCoy had become the accumulation of his victories and a reminder of his failures, and not only because of the brandings that covered half his chest by now, making him the carrier of Kirk's hard-earned Xer trophies.

"Death is something that many z'e fear, but even more z'e wish for. There are other punishments that fit this crime. He will be put onto the pain pole to await them." X'k'aher called in the two Xer. They forced McCoy up and chained his hands behind his back. The blood from the torn nose piercing colored his face and chest with dark-red streaks. When they pulled him away, he didn't make a sound.

"I will decide when the best moment to apply his punishment will be," X'k'aher said.

All Kirk could do was nod. The door closed behind the leader of the Xer, and Kirk fell on his bed, anger and frustration warring inside of him. But there was no time to think about what had happened; the first festivity for the Vulcans would take place tonight, and he had to attend.

He forced himself up and into his Xer outfit. And he had never despised it more.

*

It had been two days since Saavik had been shaven by Sarek's hands, but Deveed hadn't managed to find the courage for talking to Stonn yet. But now, waiting with his master in the transport bay that would bring the delegates down once again for a celebration, he felt it might be his best moment to ask.

"S'Haile…" Deveed began cautiously.

"Yes, slave?" Stonn murmured.

"I…never asked for anything, S'Haile. But today I would like to."

"Ah?" Stonn looked up from his padd, his eyes turning into slits.

"It's not for me," Deveed hastened to add. "I wanted to ask on behalf of Saavik."

"I see. What is it you would ask for?"

Deveed looked down at his shoes. Suddenly, he was unsure if this was a good idea. "She is…suffering, more than most of us, S'Haile. I wanted to ask if she could serve another master."

Stonn rubbed his chin with his forefinger. "It is actually something I have considered too. There is a possibility for this. But do not speak about it to anyone."

Deveed sank to his knees at the Vulcan's feet. "Thank you, S'Haile."

"It is in my own interests. Now get up, slave."

Deveed had just stood up when the door to the bay opened and Sarek stepped in, followed by the beam technician.

The Vulcan eyed Deveed. "It is decided," he said. Stonn frowned, but pulled the veil over his head and went up onto the platform without further comment.

"You're coming with us, Deveed," Sarek ordered, lowering his own veil.

"I?" Deveed asked in surprise.

"Yes. Take your position for the beaming."

Deveed stepped onto the platform, too confused to be nervous. A minute later, he faced X'k'aher, not knowing he was going to meet his fate.

*

There was pain all around and inside of him. Everything ached and with every charge that went through his body, the pain was further amplified. In the past, McCoy sometimes had walked by the pain poles and always avoided looking at the slaves that hung on them, knowing that they were doomed for a long death. Just like the slaves who passed him now, never raising their eyes at him. There was no pity in this world, because if you could still feel at all, it was only for yourself.

The Xer who walked by only feasted on his emotions. They might draw closer, show their ravaged equivalent of a smile when they received his pain. At least they didn't touch him. He was too filthy for their taste by now; they liked their victims clean, except for the blood that came with death.

Another sharp jolt of pain went through him, and he strained against his chains, his muscles contracting on their own. A strangled cough escaped, but not loud enough to disturb the passing Xer. A second and third discharge followed, the pattern irregular and purely by chance. It was worse than the pain booth back on the ISS Enterprise, and he'd turn mad because of it, McCoy knew.

But it had still been worth it, if it saved Spock's life.

*

While the Xer took care of Deveed, Sarek and Stonn started with a little sight-seeing, now that their business agreement was resting on a solid base. X'k'aher was personally showing them around, and the Vulcans were impressed by the achievements. The Xer had started out as typical raiders, but their results far exceeded those of other groups. More feared than the Empire on many planets now, their expansion plans were within achievable parameters. An alliance with the Xer would be favorable indeed, at least from a business point of view, as Sarek had pointed out to Seral the evening before.

But deep inside, Sarek was less confident of the collaboration than his son Stonn was. Vulcans might be cruel, but there still rationality in what they did, and goals to be achieved by their brutality. What the Xer did was senseless torturing and killing in Sarek's opinion, and he had yet to find out what motivated them.

X'k'aher received a message on his little communication device, and turned to them. "I was informed that your gift is prepared. Let us walk to the main hall."

He showed them the way along one of the wider corridors of the station that was a lot bigger than the Vulcans' intelligence had estimated, when suddenly McCoy's tied figure was visible in the distance. As they drew closer, Sarek took a deep breath.

The human was barely conscious, although he moaned in irregular intervals. He was forced to stay on a pole, its end buried in his ass. His legs were spread and chained to the ground so that he could barely support himself, and his hands were tied back to another metal pole that anchored the construction by stabilizing it in a 90 degree angle. A short chain from the middle lip piercing to the nipple piercings forced his head down. Somehow he looked like a Terran seahorse in his twisted position. There was dried blood all over his face and chest, but Sarek couldn't see where it had came from.

"This z'e failed. He therefore receives electric shocks on the pain pole now," X'k'aher said.

For a moment, Sarek would have loved to destroy the Xer, erase them and their bloodthirsty sickness from the face of the universe with his own hands, and Kirk right along with them. But as he saw X'k'aher's small eyes resting on him, he forced himself to control his emotions, hiding his clenched fists under the robe. War over McCoy was useless; they would have to get him through negotiations.

"How long will you keep the slave there?" Sarek heard Stonn asking.

"At least another day. His further punishment is yet undecided."

Sarek nodded. He did not feel calm enough to look at Stonn, and was relieved to follow X'k'aher into the next corridor which ended in a slope leading to the main hall.

Other Xer awaited them there. Kirk was the last one to join them right in front of the door, and they barely gave him a nod.

"Please enter," X'k'aher said as he manually opened a large, decorated door. "Normally, our evening parties are smaller, but for you, we added some special attractions."

*

It wasn't the first Xer festival he had attended, but Kirk had never seen the hall decorated quite like this. The Xer had taken care to bring out enemies of Vulcan; mostly Andorian and Orion prisoners were lined up along the left and right sides of the long hall, forced into being statues with chains and bars. Illuminated from behind, they created an eerie picture. In the middle of each row, there was a rare Betazoid prisoner chained to the wall, the only females the Xer were interested in. Betazoids didn't have to be tortured - absorbing and multiplying the pain around them, their emotional overload was a feast for their torturers. In the middle of the room there was a translucent column which ran from the floor to the top, becoming slimmer near the ceiling. Two nude Andorians were wedged into it, awaiting their fate. On stage, a man was tied to a cross, his mouth spread with a metal instrument.

Above all, there was a quiet that never failed to make Kirk shiver. The Xer hated noise, and so all the suffering was taking place in almost silence, barely disturbed by little whimpers. Kirk had seen and done a lot in his career, but the level to which the Xer carried torture had managed to turn his stomach once in a while. He would have preferred to stay away from these particular festivities, but attendance was mandatory for the inner circle. Tonight, without McCoy at his side, he had to prove his loyalty even more than usual.

Kirk still couldn't believe what McCoy had done; he half expected him to be on the stage tonight, but the pain pole usually lasted at least a day and he was thankful for that. Knowing that he probably wouldn't be able to save McCoy, he had decided he would talk to Sarek. With this in mind, he followed X'k'aher to the area between the stage and the column. More slaves were awaiting them; those who served drinks and foods were of the honored class and only had the facial piercings and some brandings; other, less lucky ones, were distributed between the couches and tied into positions for optimal use.

Sarek and Stonn took their places on the divans they were offered, accepting the offered wine. High-ranking Xer surrounded them, forcing Kirk to take a place slightly apart. He absent-mindedly took his cup and sipped before noting the Vulcan spices they had mixed in it tonight. He frowned at the obvious attempt to please the Vulcans thoroughly, wishing he'd been just as welcome. It had taken him over two hard months to prove his worth; with the Enterprise, it would've taken him only four days. It made the wine turn sour on his tongue. Everyone leaned back as the performance on stage began. Kirk would rather look at the man who was tied into an all-fours position next to his place. He'd seen the Xer idea of performance before; it usually meant a very bloody show. With one hand on his dick to stroke it into erection for the expected performance during the festival, he only glimpsed the stage from time to time. The first guy was sliced lengthwise, before his eyes were pulled out and fed to him. Then they cut his head off. The next victim was a fallen honored slave, and he was staked until the pole came out of his stomach. His upper body cramped and arched from the pain, but the metal cage around his head allowed for no sound. This display was moved to the side to allow the audience to fully enjoy his dying over the evening.

The last one brought on stage was a human, which made Kirk look harder. It was a male, although the genitals were missing; it was almost a boy, with curly hair and a lean body just beginning to develop muscles. His eyes were wide open in panic, fixed on the audience. There was no obvious gagging mechanism, but when they tied him to a cross frame and began chopping off his left leg right under the hip, there were no sounds leaving the open mouth. As opposed to the first man, they carefully amputated the limbs, quickly stopping the blood flow every time and administering drugs to keep the boy awake.

Kirk looked away, only to see that the glass column in the center of the room was slowly filling with water. The Andorians, realizing what they were in for, were getting nervous, bumping their hands against the glass - but it was unbreakable and sound-proof, as Kirk well knew. Their antennas were rapidly moving back and forth in a silent dance, and he felt a touch of pity which he quickly brushed aside.

He looked back to the stage, wondering what new perversity the Xer had thought up. They took down the boy, or what remained of him, and carried it to their guest of honor. It was when Sarek and X'k'aher shared the boy that Kirk realized they had chopped the boy into a handy package ready for fucking; just the body with the asshole and a mouth, now forced open wide somehow. He didn't see much of the mutilated body as long as the higher-ranking Xer were using it, but after some stations the boy was carried to him.

He stared into the chalk-white face. Tears were running in big streams down the cheeks, terrified blue eyes staring at him in silenced horror. Kirk's stomach turned, and he would have loved to shove that piece of dying flesh aside. But he felt the gazes of the inner circle Xer resting on him, and he couldn't, wouldn't sacrifice his advancement for anyone. In a swift movement, he got up, took the face in his hands and rammed his half-stiff member into the spread mouth. It was wet and clammy from the fluids of the men before him, but at least he wouldn't see the tears this way.

With every movement, he forgot more of the horror and enjoyed more of the stimulation. The mouth was wide, but not too wide, and getting warmer now. The lining material was slightly rough, offering just the right traction to enhance his arousal. He pushed deeper and fucked more fervently, until the head suddenly slipped out of his hands and the body was propelled to the floor. It landed on its stomach, offering a backside that abruptly ended right under the buttocks. He swore and kicked the helpless thing with his boot.

Not wanting to see the face again, he then lifted it up onto the divan and took it from behind, rapidly finishing. The release was painful and sickening, forced out of his body more by his frustrated thoughts about McCoy than by any given to the piece of meat under him. He wiped his spent organ on his robe and saw the mutilated body being moved to the next Xer. X'k'aher watched him with approval; Sarek watched him with an unreadable gaze that Kirk encountered with frown. He remembered that he still had to ask Sarek for help. And he hated it.

More wine was offered and Kirk took it, gulping the cup down in one go and ordering a third one immediately.

The Xer's attention moved to the glass column. The water was just lapping over the Andorian's necks, and they tried to swim upward with the water. It didn't take long for them to realize that with the column getting slimmer, only one of them would be able to breathe. Switching from cooperation to combat, they began hauling and shoving each other until one of the bodies was slowly sinking to the ground. The winner, however, didn't have more luck in the long run. Fighting for the last breath of air, his nose tightly wedged to the peak of the column, Kirk could see from the erratically moving legs that the end was close. Soon, the second body sank down too. The excrements from the dead slowly colored the light blue water, and he averted his eyes from the column.

The Xer were delighted by the show, and started to make good use of the offered bodies in the hall. It devolved into the usual orgy of rape and killing, but this also allowed Kirk to ease his way toward the Vulcans without being too obvious. They had the mutilated boy between them again, but not for using; instead, Sarek was stroking its head.

Kirk slipped onto the divan next to them. "Spent already?"

They eyed him with frozen features.

"You are supposed to enjoy the gift." Kirk said. "It doesn't look like you are."

"Do you want to enjoy it again?" Sarek asked coolly.

Kirk spared a glance at the Xer, but their attention was elsewhere. He leaned forward, faking an interest in the body, and opened his mouth - only to close it again. He couldn't ask Sarek for help. If Sarek got McCoy out of here, no matter how, Kirk would lose McCoy.

And he would rather see him dead than in Sarek's hands.

He shook his head. "No thanks."

Sarek nodded. Kirk could see his hand closing over the boy's throat, the fingers pressing into the pliable flesh. There was just a little tremble, one final shiver, and then it was over.

When the Vulcan's fingers left the throat, there were no marks. From the dead boy's other side, Stonn went up, which caused the head to loll. "I will be right back," he said and walked away.

Kirk met Sarek's eyes. "Thank you," he murmured, surprised about himself the very moment the words left his mouth.

Sarek's gaze was unreadable. "So these are your new friends, Kirk? You have surprising taste."

"They are your new partners too, aren't they?"

"Not yet."

"Wasn't the boy your wedding gift?" Kirk asked caustically.

Sarek's voice was cold as ice. "Maybe it was yours." He went up. On his robe, there were encrusted stripes of blood in various colors. "We will retire for the night. It had been an interesting day. Enjoy the party."

"I will," Kirk said with barely restrained anger. When the Vulcans had left, he gave the dead boy a last glance, then moved to one of the tied slaves to act out his frustration.

*

Saavik disliked Stonn. Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things that formed her life, which was all outside of her control, but she had always disliked him. Therefore, when she was called to him the next morning, Saavik was more than wary when she entered his ready room.

"Welcome Saavik," he said and looked up from his console.

He'd never greeted her like this. She became even more wary as she bowed and addressed him with his title.

"I wanted to speak to you, regarding an important matter."

"Yes, S'Haile?"

"You remember our little discussion we had a few months ago?" Stonn asked. "About your mother?"

"I remember your questions, but I had no answers. I never got to know her."

He nodded. "Well, I investigated a little, and found some very interesting details."

She remained quiet.

"Don't you want to know?"

"Is it of consequence if I want to learn about them?"

Stonn leaned back in his chair. "Oh, maybe it is irrelevant to you that you are Sarek's grandchild. In that case, you may leave."

"Sarek's grandchild?" She heard her disbelief mirrored in her words.

"Yes. Your Romulan mother was a prisoner of our house, fourteen years ago. And she was also Spock's concubine for a while."

Saavik frowned. "Spock does not believe in such social constructs."

"Sarek did, and Spock never went against his wishes - except for the day when he left to join the Fleet. You are the product of their unofficial union. Your mother died during childbirth, and it was decided that you would be raised as a common slave."

"I - I don't believe you," Saavik said. But deep inside, she already knew that this story made more sense than any other she had heard about her heritage so far. It also explained why Sarek had a special interest in her, spending more time on her education than made sense if she was just a bought slave.

But it didn't explain why she was a slave at all, the necklace molded around her throat, the whip marks of many punishments on her back, or the way her biological aunts and uncles treated her. Nor why Sarek tortured her night after night, using her for sexual services, his own blood…

"You do believe me," Stonn stated, a light smile playing on his lips. "It would have been easy to make you a part of our family; one word from T'Pau would have been enough for an official adoption. But when you were born, Spock had already left and Sarek hated to be reminded of him. For many years, you were raised far away from Sarek. Only when you were old enough, did he take perverse pleasure in using you as a means of revenge, by using your servitude and your sexual services. Spock was gone, but a part of him stayed in our house, which he could form according to his wishes and ensure that it would never be able to act against him."

She stared at Stonn, unable to say a word.

"You could have had a life as a wealthy daughter of our house, properly educated, served by your own slaves. Instead, Sarek condemned you to a lifetime of slavery and lack of rights with a wave of his hand."

Her own hands cramped; her breathing, stuck in her throat, abruptly released in a long exhale. "What do you want me to do, S'Haile?"

He ignored her. "Since we're talking of slaves - you know what happened to Deveed?"

She wordlessly shook her head.

"Sarek gave him to the Xer as a gift. Do you know what the Xer do with men that are too young and weak for the services they demand? They use them as living sex toys for just one night, to be discarded afterwards."

"No," she whispered.

"I saw him myself, and he was just a raw piece of flesh when they were done. They filled his mouth with their stinking tentacles and pumped him full of sperm. In the end, Sarek killed him with his own hands."

"No…"

Stonn turned the screen towards her. "I can show you a picture if you want to see it."

A glimpse was enough - burying her face in her hands, she fought off the shock that threatened to overwhelm her. It took her a minute to regain some control. Then she asked again, "What do you want from me, S'Haile?"

"Tell me what Sarek plans to do."

She looked at Stonn. She had always hated Sarek, but now she did so with every fiber of her body and soul. He had destroyed everything, right from the beginning, and everything - everybody - that could have meant anything to her in the future. She hadn't known what love was until she'd lost it. She couldn't make Deveed alive again, but she could avenge him and everyone else Sarek had killed in his life. Her hands sank down, palms closing into fists. It was in her power, it was literally in her hands to give Sarek over to his rightful fate.

"I'll tell you everything I know," she said, and Stonn smiled.

*

There were things money can't buy, Torente knew. It couldn't buy the lives of the loved ones that had died in the total annihilation of his planet, and it couldn't dry the tears of those few left behind. It also couldn't remove the deadly dust now filling his home world's atmosphere. Where there was a green planet before, there would be only a dead piece of grey earth for the next thousand years.

But money could buy him this, he thought, once more correcting the fit of his mask and his dark-red robe, colored like the blood of his people. It could buy him into the torture cells not as a victim, but as an executioner.

It could buy him revenge for his planet by sentencing the guilty to death.

The Vulcan that the masked men brought into the room was weak, barely able to stand. His arms and neck were locked into a metal pillory, and he swayed until they let him fall to his knees in front of the table where Torente was sitting.

Finally, Torente was eye to eye with the man whose torture he had watched on screen over the last weeks. He'd seen him raped and burned, had seen his hairs pulled out one by one; he'd bid with others for the pleasure of seeing the Vulcan's shoulder's skinned in stripes. The pictures were kept in his memory just as they were saved deep down in his ship's databanks, so that he could wallow in them for years to come. For months, all he had dreamt of had been his burned world and images of his wife and daughter crying out for him before being vaporized by the Empire's weapons. Now, pictures of the suffering Vulcan began overshadowing them, releasing some of his guilt.

On screen, the Vulcan had looked…larger. Stronger. Less broken. Torente was almost annoyed that now, in reality, the man was a wreck. The dark eyes from below the slanted brows - the only hair left on the whole body - were barely looking at him, the lids heavy and swollen. The hands moved weakly in the holes that held them, the stumps of his mutilated fingers a dirty dark-green.

"Look at me!" Torente thundered.

With effort, the Vulcan centered his gaze on him. The face was black and green, the nose's angle distorted from being broken more than once; dried blood was crusted around it and on the lips.

"You are here to receive your final sentence." Torente lifted his padd, gazing at the pictures and numbers he knew by heart.

"You were once commander on one of the Empire's biggest starships. You led the ambush on the planet Aria, in which over 13 million people died." He looked up from the padd.

"Do you have anything to say?"

The Vulcan moved his lips.

"Louder, you piece of rotting flesh!"

"It was Kirk," the Vulcan whispered throatily, the words almost inaudible. "Not me."

"You could have stopped him. You stopped him when he was about to destroy the Halkans!"

"Yes."

Torente moved around the table to face his victim.

"Why didn't you save Aria?"

The Vulcan closed his eyes.

"Why?" Torente slapped him so hard that the Vulcan's chin was crushed against the metal. "Why?"

Torente's fingers hurt, but not enough to stop him. He slapped the Vulcan again.

The man sagged to the left, but Ajen's men kept him upright.

Torente had wanted to do so much with the Vulcan. For nights, he'd lain wide awake and thought up ways to torture him with his own hands. He had wanted to pull out his eyes and cut his ears; he'd thought of crushing the small leftovers of genitals under the heel of his boot. But now, seeing the broken, pathetic creature, he didn't want to dirty his hands. Torente wasn't the killer, the Vulcan was, and he should die for his crimes. But Torente wouldn't be the executioner, only the judge.

Torente turned on his heel and walked around the table to sit down again. He took the little bell that had been used to speak righteously on Aria, and rang it.

"For the sins of your life, you are sentenced to a long, painful death by stringing."

The masked men removed the pillory, then lifted the Vulcan into a standing position and tied his wrists to the hoist that came down from the ceiling - the timing was nothing less than perfect.

Hoisted up again until the Vulcan barely was able to stand, the executioners placed stripes of cutting rubber around his chest, as the material was called. Once it was exposed to air, it changed molecular structure and shrank to a third of its former length with tremendous force. The stripes that ran over the naked chest of the Vulcan would first crush the ribs, then drive the fractured pieces into the organs. Death by internal bleeding would be the final result of the long, extremely painful ordeal.

It was the length that had convinced Torente to chose this execution method, and he had envisioned sitting through it until the Vulcan uttered his last throttled breath. But just like before, he felt little satisfaction once the man was in position and all there was left to do was wait. He'd get the details on screen soon; there was no need to stay any longer.

After one last gaze into the defeated eyes, Torente left the room. His ship already undocked when the first two of Spock's ribs were crushed and the Vulcan's cry was captured by the microphones to be distributed into the depth of space.

*

Ajen sat in his office, barely sparing a glance at the Vulcan's torture as he was busily wrapping up his affairs. In the chamber next to the Vulcan, a Klingon was being strangulated to death; their neck muscles made hanging a long, painful method, and caused - what was worse for the Klingon - a despicable death.

As well, there were a dozen goods to be transferred to the ships; they would have to be sedated and chained for easy transport. Ajen's escape route would take them through an arm of Orion space; maybe he'd have to pay with one or two of the prisoners. Ajen put the two Romulan women aside they'd received two days ago. Orions loved female Romulan slaves - that should be enough to bribe any patrol.

When the Vulcan cried out again, he looked at the screen. It was still only the beginning; they had at least three hours left until they would be finished with him. That the Arian had left so early had been expected. Most species couldn't bear direct contact with the suffering; they always saw themselves mirrored in those wounded eyes. There were sadistic buyers, of course, but they rarely wanted to pay for an expensive personalized execution setting. Only the ones driven by personal revenge took the long way - usually to find out that it didn't give them what they had hoped for.

Ajen was realistic enough to admit that even he preferred to stay on this side of the screen and let his helpers do the dirty work. All he handled were numbers and codes in a database, and the customers that dealt the cards and chose the sentences; there hadn't ever been real blood on his hands.

Suddenly, all of the screens began to flicker and then darkened. It looked like a power loss, but they'd never had one here. It was untimely - or maybe, much too timely to be coincidence.

A second later, the doors were torn open by a big explosion, and invaders with disruptor rifles spilled into the room. Ajen turned to press the emergency button, but a well-aimed shot was faster. With his hand suspended in mid-air, he felt light-headed for a moment before his burned body crumpled to the floor and his soul left for hell.

*

When two Xer finally took McCoy down from the pole, he barely registered it at first. Driven almost mad by the erratic electric charges and the painfully tense position, he was like a rag doll. They dumped him on his knees, shoved a staff under his restrained arms and tied it to his upper arms. Using it as handle, they half pulled, half dragged him through the corridors of the station and down to the ca'g area. Only there did he regain enough consciousness to open his eyes to a scene he'd only ever seen on tapes Kirk had brought in to intimidate him.

The ca'g was a living hell - it was where the prisoners and new slaves were brought in, to be conditioned and broken for the Xer's pleasure. He didn't have much time to take it in now, but he had the pictures in mind. People hanging by their wrists or ankles, burned with hot irons, or pierced in hundreds of painful ways. After a true Xer conditioning, the z'e was but a living machine of mindless obedience.

They pulled him into a tiled corner, and he waited for the pain to come. But there was none; instead, they started some kind of sonic shower and cleaned him. They moved him around to reach every part of his body, and when they were done, the dried blood and excrement of the last few days were gone.

Then the Xer pulled him further through the ca'g corridors, around some more corners and up some stairways, where they dumped him again. He sank down onto his knees, his shivering muscles unable to support him. He waited for the blow that would surely come now - but they just left him there, and seconds, then minutes passed without any further torture.

With great effort, McCoy raised his head. They were in a small, but rather cluttered corner, and he didn't understand what they were here for when three Xer brought another slave in and dragged him to the right onto a…stage?

McCoy leaned forward, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening. A cold shiver ran over him as he realized that this had to be a Xer party. He'd only attended a few times, extremely drugged, but he still could smell blood whenever he thought about them. An evening program for the Xer meant torture and death.

His body leapt forward and his chin crashed onto the floor as the Xer brutally forced his upper body down with the rod. "Curious?" the bigger one whispered.

From his new position, with the left side of his face pressed to the ground, McCoy could see the stage, where they had tied the man to a kind of crucifix. Why…

The Xer shoved his knees apart. A slim genital found its way into McCoy, but he didn't care for anything except for what was happening on stage.

There, several young Xer surrounded the victim. They held something up, but McCoy didn't know what it was until they brought it down on the man's left hand and began cutting the fingers. The tortured man wanted to cry out, but an elaborate metal construction held his jaw in place. McCoy could see the veins protruding from the man's throat, and could almost feel the pain the man had to be experiencing.

And suddenly he knew they'd do the same to him. They'd cut his fingers, hands, arms…they'd cut him to pieces, very slowly. This would be his punishment. He arched in panic, but the Xer pushed him back to the floor. He felt their weight upon him as they shoved more limbs into him.

He had wanted to die, yes, but not like this, he thought as they finally pulled him up and moved him in the direction of the stage. Not like this…

*

The call came in the middle of the celebration. With a sigh, X'k'aher got up and went to a nearby console, wiping the blood from his limb before keying in his code.

"As-je X'k'aher," the young Xer on the other side of the line said and lowered his eyes. "I shall relay this message from Pke'r. The goods were retrieved. Damaged but alive. They will be sent tomorrow."

"This is good news," he said. "Tik'a will send his pain," he added the traditional thank-you formula.

"I feel," the Xer on the other end replied formally, and closed the line.

X'k'aher shook his extremities. With this final bargain, the deal between the pointy-eared coldblood and him was sealed. Three bodies for a secret treaty with one of the most important Houses on Vulcan was a cheap price to pay. He called X'for; it was time to prepare for their departure from this station.

*

McCoy didn't understand a thing. One second, he was on his way to be executed, and by the next one he was beamed aboard an alien ship and captured by someone else.

Hooded figures dragged McCoy down a hallway, and then another one. He'd lost track of their movements long ago. Probably they'd saved him from certain death, so probably they wouldn't kill him now. But he didn't count on it. In his head, an aching spot had enlarged and felt like a big, painful ball in his brain, contracting and extending in unison with his heartbeat.

They pulled him around another corner and into a cabin, where they pushed him into the sleeping area. He sank to his knees next to the bed. The hooded men removed the staff from under his upper arms and left him alone.

The ball of pain pressed against his eyes, causing them to water. But for once he was curious. His former apathy diminished by the fact that he was still alive, against all the odds, and the possibility that there might be more to his life than being Kirk's possession after all. The signs on the wall looked slightly familiar…Vulcan, he thought. He should know the letters, Kirk had said, but he didn't. They were just pretty pictographs without meaning.

But that bastard had lied anyway. He hated him, hated him, hated him. He wanted to see him dead, cut to pieces and eaten by rats. And maybe there was a chance for that now.

McCoy waited.

It took more than an hour before a hooded, veiled figure entered. Once disrobed, it was an elderly man with pointed ears. He'd seen him in the past, but McCoy couldn't put a name to the man.

"Makkoi," the Vulcan said, slowly.

McCoy would have answered, but the lip piercings were still in place. He wanted to be freed so much that it hurt.

Suddenly the Vulcan touched him, patting his shaven head. McCoy closed his eyes at this unexpected tenderness. The man spoke with him, but nothing he could understand. As the man realized this, he switched to Standard.

"Makkoi…we believed you to be dead." The Vulcan sat down on the bed, close to him.

"But once we learned you were here, we didn't rest until you would be with us, your family again." The Vulcan's hands ran down from his face to his chin, coming to rest on his lips. The fingertips played with the piercings. McCoy opened his eyes and gave the man a pleading gaze. But the man seemed oblivious, lost in his own memories.

"I never thought I would touch you again…" His hands covered McCoy's cheeks, while his thumbs still rubbed over McCoy's lips.

McCoy tried to move away, but the man wouldn't let him. And with his arms still chained behind his back, he was no match for a Vulcan. He'd never been one. Only a plaything. Kirk had been right, after all.

"No, don't turn away," the man said hoarsely. "I know you cannot remember now, but you will. I promise."

His fingers centered on McCoy's face, searching. The pulsing knot in McCoy's brain seemed to explode as the Vulcan found the right spots and entered his mind.

All McCoy wanted to do was scream.

*

It was a dark, ravaged world, full of despair and hopelessness. There was also pain, but it was not only the human's one. Sarek's mind wandered through the barren land and searched for McCoy's memories.

But there were none. It was as if McCoy never had been on Vulcan, never had undergone training by Sarek's hands. There was nothing locked - it was just nonexistent. The areas that should hold the memories were blank and wiped, white valleys in the plain of memories.

It could not be, Sarek's mind cried. It was as if McCoy was taken from him a second time, much worse than just by physical distance. He had made this human his. He had never stopped craving him, thinking about his fate, wondering how McCoy had gotten along with Spock after the events on Vulcan. But he had not expected this.

Spock had been much more ruthless than he had thought him to be. A faint feeling of fatherly pride went through Sarek and disappeared again. How dare Spock wipe McCoy's memories like this, deleting as well all knowledge of Vulcan and Vulcan society, cutting McCoy's ties to his Vulcan House.

But most of all, McCoy was his. And he would make him his again.

Sarek took his victim in a frenzy, burning a first golden stream into the barren landscape, before hurriedly departing, leaving McCoy securely chained to the bed.

*

Kirk wandered through the dark freight room of Sarek's ship. The invitation had come in at the same time as the information that made him want to kill Sarek now.

"Sarek," he shouted, and clanged his laser pistol against the nearest metal ladder. "Come out. I know you're here, you bastard."

He knew he was acting stupidly and that this had to be a trap, but he didn't care anymore. He was angry, deadly angry. "I thought we had a common goal!" He circled around to survey the area as much as was possible, but the darkness was only broken by a few red lights.

"I thought you were here for business." Kirk said. "But obviously, that's not the answer."

He thought of the message on his console, telling the tale. He thought of the dead boy, how his arms and legs had been amputated, the lining that had spread the boy's jaws and covered the teeth to make him the perfect fuck toy. Yes, he'd fucked him too, but he hadn't known who the boy had been and what would he have done anyway, with the Xer breathing down his neck?

"Why, Sarek?" he cried.

He hadn't known it was his own son. The Empire had gotten rid of Carol once she'd tried to force him into marriage with the pregnancy. The Fleet didn't take it lightly if you wanted to lay hands on their future commanders. But how could he have known that the child would end up in slavery on Vulcan? And then be given to the Xer by Sarek, who had known about the boy's heritage for years?

"I would've given you a lot for him, Sarek. I would've paid dearly for him. Maybe - maybe, I would've even have given you McCoy."

His throat tightened. He'd lost it all, again. The Xer had sold him to the Vulcans - McCoy was in Sarek's hands. And David, who could have been his son, was dead.

It was a small sound, but it was enough. He whirled around and pulled the trigger, but there was only a soft click. It was the wrong weapon, he registered automatically - it didn't work with his artificial fingers. He dove, but it was too late. The energy bolt blasted his left side and sent him spinning down to the floor.

*

Sarek drew near in measured steps. He had ensured that Kirk had no other weapons with him; so he could indulge in a moment of deep satisfaction in the face of a dying enemy.

Kirk looked up at him, barely able to focus although the bay was brightly illuminated now.

"Where did I make the mistake?" he forced through his lips, a well of blood gushing with each word.

"You never understood Vulcans, Kirk. Spock is still my son," Sarek said.

"You - never cared for - Spock." Red blood pooled on the floor. "Why - now?"

Sarek distributed the liquid with his boot's tip. "If you had killed him, I would have ignored it," he said coolly. "But you sent him into slavery and torture. The House has to be avenged and cleansed of this disgrace."

"Bullshit - you only want - McC-" Kirk whispered, his voice drowning on the last vowels.

Sarek looked down on the dying man and allowed himself a small smile. "Maybe this is true, but how does it help you?"

"He'll be - your doom. Everyone's. . . doomed."

Kirk coiled in a last, fierce movement; then his limbs sagged to the floor as a last stream of blood left his body.

Sarek looked down on him with a scornful gaze. "May you burn in your human hell," he said and turned - to face his son.

"Stonn?" he said, raising a brow at the phaser in the younger Vulcan's hands.

"Father," Stonn said formally, but didn't lower the weapon. "Kneel down."

"You would not do it," Sarek stated, but when Stonn wordlessly tightened his forefinger on the trigger, Sarek gave in and knelt on the floor. Even through the layers of clothes, he could feel the dampness of the human's blood as it began to soak into his robe.

"You intent to kill me?" he asked. "I admit to curiosity - why?"

"Kirk was right - you only wanted McCoy. You never even tried to find Spock."

"I have no interest in McCoy -"

"Stop lying, father," Stonn cut him off. "I know that T'Pau threatened you with banishment, if you ever touched him again. And you did. I have got records to prove it."

"It was necessary," Sarek said. "I needed to link to him, and this was the best way." He met Stonn's eyes squarely. "This is not about McCoy but about T'Pring and your firstborn."

"I admit, that is part of the reason, too." Stonn's finger played with the trigger. "If you had not neglected T'Opal for so long, she would not have poisoned my wife and our son would not have been a malformed, mentally damaged freak! It was your fault that the human came into our family, almost destroying us."

"You will have other sons, Stonn. If need be, with other wives," Sarek said, marginally relaxing. "If we find Spock, it would only endanger your position."

"Only as long as you live and have the right to choose him over me as your successor."

"True," Sarek admitted slowly. "But there are many things you still have to learn, Stonn. My death would deprive you of much knowledge."

"I don't think so. I have met V'ta several times lately…who was not at all content with the way you treated him these last months." Stonn wandered around Sarek. The kneeling man listened to the steps as they circled him, but his son was intelligent enough to keep his distance.

"You should not have beaten him quite so often, Sarek. Even old servants can get enough of their master, and hope for a new one."

"He was becoming unreliable," Sarek said. "You should not trust him too much."

An unexpected blow on his head sent him to the ground. With a moan he tried to collect himself, blinking as he found himself half-laying over Kirk's bloody chest. The color suddenly turned into a glimpse of his own fate, and he lifted his head to stare into the human's dead eyes. Destruction bore destruction, a wise man called Surak once had said…and had been killed for that. But maybe there was truth in that simple logic.

"Yes, watch him. You will share his fate very soon," Stonn's voice reached his ears. "And Saavik's."

So the girl who would have been another possible rival for Stonn's position was already dead too. Sarek looked up, seeing his son as if through a fog. "What will become of McCoy…and Spock?"

"Spock is alive. The Xer will give him to me as part of our new deal. I will bring them both back to Vulcan, where they can choose between the Sheeiet and death by themselves," Stonn said. "There is no need to anger T'Pau by spoiling her moment of grandiosity."

"I admit, it sounds very logical." Sarek tried to rise on his knees again, but slipped on the blood-stained floor. His hands flexed over Kirk's arm, feeling cooling flesh. Logical, indeed. Inevitable, even.

"Look at me, father," Stonn said.

He turned his eyes toward his son, realizing that Stonn would not back down anymore. "McCoy will be your doom, too," Sarek said.

That caused Stonn to laugh openly, a sound Sarek had not heard in decades. "I never understood your obsession with him. I despise him and all of his race, and if Spock had been in his clear mind, he would have done so, too. Your love for humans has weakened our family enough. T'Pau will be content to see this danger to our House removed for once and always."

With the last word, he pulled the trigger. Sarek was astonished to feel very little as the energy blast hit him, ending his existence by vaporizing him into billions of particles.


End file.
